


Feathers of Gray

by bluetoast



Series: Birds of a Feather [67]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Deaf Dean Winchester, Dean Feels, Gen, John Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>December 2020 - John's not really expecting Sam or Adam to show up at the assisted living for his birthday, although it would be nice. His health is failing and hearing other men talk about their grandkids is painful, when he has none. Then the last person he ever expected pays him a visit: Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers of Gray

John Winchester found it rather amusing that the only thing in his body that were functioning normally without the benefit of medication was his liver. He'd figured that getting on the wagon in 2001 was going to be of minimal help, if best. Now he was nearly twenty years sober and his liver was thanking him by doing its job without medication. The same could not be said for his respiratory system; damaged from a lifetime of working in the auto industry and some exposure to napalm and who knew what else in Vietnam. His circulatory system was sputtering out due to genetics. His digestive system – well, that mostly worked. But it really would have helped if everything hadn't decided to quit at the same time.

Well, he made it to the exalted age of seventy-four before his health turned on him. He had outlived both of his wives; although he often felt that Mary's death couldn't quite count, as she'd been murdered. By rights, she should still be alive and he should have been dead years ago. That was always a double edged sword in his mind – if Mary was alive, Adam would never have been born. 

And Liesel Coulter wouldn't exist either.

Maybe.

The assisted living place wasn't all bad. Although it really would help John's morale if all the other men would shut up about their grandchildren. He was still holding out hope that Adam and Kelly would have kids, but he didn't plan on seeing them. He leaned back in his seat, sighing at the snowflakes drifting by outside. 

He heard a chair scrape at the table and he closed his eyes. Most likely it was Lori, the nicest of the nurses, here to tell him that the snow had delayed a visit, again. “I'm not in the mood for bad news, Lori.”

“I can't understand you if you don't look at me.” The voice was calm, measured – the words carefully formed. It wasn't... it couldn't be.... 

John opened his eyes and slowly turned. Sitting there, across the table from him was Dean. He had not seen the boy – man – in twenty years. He'd not seen a photograph in at least ten. Faint hints of gray now streaked his hair and the start of lines had appeared at the corners of his bright green eyes. He'd gotten – old. He swallowed hard. “Dean.”

“John.” Dean straightened his shoulders – the way he always had when he talked to him – even when he'd been scared, injured or worse – the shoulders always came to attention, his focus clear. “Sam told me you were here.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I figured that someone should come and see you on your birthday.”

He frowned. “You remembered.” 

“Yes.” He shifted and rested his arms on the table, looking rather nervous. “Don't look into too much.”

“I won't.” He managed a weak smile. “What are you doing this far north anyway?”

“The University of Michigan started chucking brochures into the mail for Liesel. When they started offering scholarships, we figured we might as well come up and see the campus.” He chuckled. “Although if they want her to go to their school, they may have to do something about this weather.”

John chuckled. “Academic or athletic scholarships?”

“Both.” Dean's smile got a little more certain. “And here her friends thought she was crazy for learning two languages.”

He sat back slightly. “She's not old enough for college, is she?”

“Doesn't seem like she should be.” A look John couldn't place came to his face. “Guess I didn't think of her going to college at seventeen when she skipped fourth grade.” He frowned. “I just wanted her away from those little shits she had for classmates.” He smirked. “And people thought we were crazy for teaching her to read when she was three.”

He covered his mouth and coughed hard, wincing at the pain in his lungs as he did. At least cancer didn't run in his family. He spluttered and then turned his attention back to Dean. “Excuse me.” He hit his chest once. “Who told you I was here?”

“Becca. Which was accompanied by a request to tell her again how to make fresh pasta.” He made a face that reminded John of Sam. “You'd think after the ninth time of me telling her not to use self-rising flour she'd remember.”

He chuckled weakly in reply. “I read your book. I thought it was... I think stating I fucked up is an understatement.”

Dean shifted in his seat. “You left me in that ER, John. That proved you knew you were doing something wrong.”

“I should have at least waited for you to be seen, or something.” He shook his head.

“That would have landed you in jail and Sam who the hell knew where.” He narrowed his eyes. “And then where would the world be?”

John frowned. “What are you talking about? Is there...” He stopped speaking as he saw Dean's eyes widen in surprise.

“You don't know?” He blinked. “You didn't know what the demon wanted?”

“I knew it was after us...”

“It was keeping tabs on Sam. He never wanted you or me.” Dean suddenly looked smug and John felt the man deserved it a little. What, exactly, did Dean know? How could he have found out anything – especially about the demon? “Do you have any idea what you did when you killed that yellow-eyed bastard?”

He frowned. He was too old and too tired to play these sort of games – but then again, given those five years he made Dean's life an utter Hell, he should be glad that the man was here, speaking to him at all. “It was about revenge, Dean. You know that.”

“That's what you thought it was.” He leaned his head against his hand, his expression unreadable. “It's less about revenge and more about the end of the world that didn't happen.”

“What are you talking about?” John wondered if Dean could detect the shock in his voice – because honestly, this was flooring him. The demon had just been a murdering bastard, hadn't he?

Dean chuckled silently, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Oh, it goes beyond what it appeared to be on the surface, John.” He folded his hands, an odd look on his face. “It began eons ago, but where the demon's... orders, shall we put it, started to get derailed could be seen as starting at three certain events.”

He thought for a moment. “Meaning that if any one of the three events hadn't happened, it most likely would have worked.”

“Well, there is a fourth factor, but the three events happen prior to it happening, so it's almost moot.” Dean shifted in his seat, his expression turned dark. “Actually, the three events would be rendered worthless had the fourth event gone the other way.”

“You sound like Mary.” John coughed again. “She could be so damn cryptic at times.” He leaned back in his seat, feeling older than he had when he got up this morning. “You look like her too.” He took a deep breath. “I don't want to think about that. Don't want to think about how I fucked up. Just so damn tired lately.”

Dean nodded slowly then looked his watch. “Well, Lis is not expecting me back for a few hours. We have time to play a few games of Checkers – and talk about things that aren't going to be emotionally damaging to either of us.”

He gave his once-upon-a-time son a confused look. “Like what?”

The man grinned, a hint of that long-lost child he once was evident on his face. “Like exactly how much ass-kicking the Jayhawks are going to do come March.”

In response, John slowly smiled, feeling a touch better. “Sounds perfect.”


End file.
